


Always

by Meeralith



Category: Kingdoms of Amalur
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fateless One/Every Damn Fae ever (prettymuch), Gen, Lorebending, Multi, Polyamory, fae, lots of Fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meeralith/pseuds/Meeralith
Summary: You are a curious mortal seeking to satisfy your curiosity about the Fae, 500 years after Tirnoch's fall. You eventually find a Fae, willing to tell you her story, but right of the bat, you realize that you didn't pick an average specimen at all.





	1. Chapter 1

Always

 

Prologue

 

No, please don't worry, Mortal. You aren't bothering me at all. I understand your curiosity, and frankly, I encourage it.  
Curiosity is good. Means that you're eager to broaden your horizon, to grow. Something that that most Fae don't have.  
Please, sit. Help yourself with some tea if you like – I reckon this might take a while.

You see, the reason why I can criticize the Fae and comprehend your reasons for seeking me out is rather simple, I was mortal once, like you. Very mortal, considering that I, well, died.  
I don't expect you to know my name, the generations that did have long passed. You might have heard of me as 'The Siegebreaker', or 'The Hero of Mel Senshir' before, yes?  
Good. Glad to hear that history is still being taught among the younger races.

Right, let me start from the beginning, to avoid confusing you more than I already have.

My name is Illya, and I was a Dokkalfar, like you, when my story began.  
And it began badly.

The first thing I remember is the sickeningly sweet scent of decay, and cold, wet skin on mine, everywhere, soaking through my clothes, sticking to my hair. As you might understand, it took me a moment to realize that I was waist-deep in a pile of dead bodies, somewhere underground.  
I had no recollection of anything – who I was, where I was, and how I got there in the first place. Alas, I panicked, kicking and punching, until I eventually managed to maneuver myself out of that pile

As I said, not really a good start.  
Turns out, I had been mistaken for a failed experiment-... wait, do Scholars teach about the Well of Souls nowadays? No? Fine, let me give you a quick summary of the experiments I'd been part of.  
The Well of Souls is, or rather, was a gnomish invention that reconstructs and reanimates the body of a dead person, who'd been attuned to it before death. That's the short version, please don't ask me for specifics, I'm not a necromancer, nor a Gnome.  
In any case, I had been such a person in my past, my first life, if you'd like me to put it that way. I had been attuned to the Well, died, and came back.  
A little bit late, hence I was thrown into that operation's trash heap. Not the most pleasant experience, but I pushed through.

Now, I won't give you the specifics of me fighting my way through the tower, because, as I am sitting here in front of you, you already know I made it out alive.  
But, having fullfilled my mortal destiny already, I ended up becoming something way bigger than just someone who came back from the dead – I became the Fateless One, and gained the ability to manipulate and tear the weave of fate around me, my every action affecting it for the better or the worse.  
And back then, when everyone was bound by fate, it was an incredible power to have.  
Imagine you're playing a board game with your friends, but they've all decided to let you ignore the game's most basic rules. Imagine the impact that'd make on your game, how much of an advantage you'd have.  
Being able to do anything may be a basic thing now, but during that time? Unthinkable.

As the only person in the entire world, I was completely free and unrestricted. It was humbling, yes, daunting, but also so very empowering.  
I stepped out of this tower, knowing that the world had no restrictions for me, no path for me to walk on.  
Of course, I was still bound by the laws of nature I could still die, but I had a chance, you see. My life was my own, for the very first time.

Now that I've explained in what kind of situation I was in, let me get you some sugar, before I get to the topic you're really here for – my first encounter with the Fae.


	2. 1 - First Contac

Chapter 1 – First Contact

 

Here you go. Now, where was I?  
Right, my first encounter with a Fae.

Actually, I'm going to tell you about the second Fae I met, as the first one was barely conscious and writhing in pain to my feet.  
Don't look at me like that, that had nothing to do with me. She was already injured by the time I stumbled out of Allestar tower.  
Come to think of it, her fate might have been shifted by my very existence the moment my heart began beating again.

But I digress.  
I entered the Almain village Gorhart, shortly after surviving the collapse of the tower, and saw that poor thing on the ground, bleeding, and entirely unresponsive. The village elder spotted me in the crowd of people – I assume Dokkalfar aren't as common in that area, or at least they weren't back then – and I, confused and wobbly on my feet as I was, offered my help.  
He sent me to the village outskirts, to seek counsel from a Fae he knew lived there.

And that was my first, actual encounter with one.  
Her name was Aery, and I found her up on a ledge, looking down at the village, eeriely calm about seeing one of her kind in peril.  
She was... not prideful, no, but rather nonchalant about her superiority over mortals. From her, I learned about the Great Cycle, about what immortality means for the Fae, and their connection to the land they inhabit.  
Any other person would probably have been taken aback by Aery's lack of concern for her sister down in the village, after all, she was dying, but I, just having crawled out of a pile of corpses, and being told I'd cheated death, was a lot more accepting of her explanation.

But Aery gave me more than advice on how to help the wounded Fae in Gorhart.  
I asked about her person, about why she was there, all by herself, and she told me, she enjoyed studying mortal behaviour.  
Aery was surprisingly passionate about these people, as passionate as a Fae can appear to a mortal, that is. She knew their names, their stories, even seemed to care for them.  
I truly believe that, had it been a mortal in the injured Fae's place, Aery would have intervened.

That is a very important thing for me. It was almost a key moment, something that has stuck with me throughout my journey, possibly helping shape me into the person I am today.  
See, I was a completely blank slate. All I had was that name I'd given myself, and the knowledge that I was free.  
Aery, unknowingly so, gave me another thing: Respect.  
Respect for those bound by fate, for those I would influence and toy with as I pleased, and eventually, as my life progressed, respect for mortals.  
Who knows? Without her input, I might have turned out to be a terrible, cold person who sees others as nothing but means to an end.  
That is the definition of evil, at least in my philosophy.

Are you allright? I forgot that you're not like me, I don't want to overwhelm you. Do tell, if you need a break? Maybe more tea?  
I see. Of course you're eager to hear more, I would be too, if I was in your position. But, it is important to mind your own needs. I will still be here tomorrow, if you need to sleep-... Fair enough. I'll continue, then.

Gorhart became my base of operations for a while. I managed to acquire a potion to treat the Fae's wounds with, on Aery's advice, and helped out here and there, making myself a friend to the village. They even let me stay in their inn for free.  
Most of me free time, I spent either sleeping, or tending to Illuvia – that's the wounded Fae's name, did I not mention that? - and, of course, seeking out Aery for the questions that kept sprouting like weeds in my head.  
I must've really strained her nerves, now that I think back. Actually, I probably didn't make the best first impression on her either, covered in blood and smelling like death.  
Really, the more I think about it, the more commendable I find her patience with me, especially because the later visits I paid her weren't at all motivated by curiosity anymore.

I was so lost, felt so alone in a vast world that I didn't quite understand yet, and Aery was just … a constant. Each time I'd walk up to her spot, I'd find her there, unchanging, unmoving. She was that bit of certainity I was looking for in these early days of my second life.  
So, I kept coming to her, just to talk, or even merely to sit with her in silence.  
From my point of view today, I probably had a crush on her. You do still use that word, yes?

Illuvia was also with me a lot, but it was different. She was much younger than Aery, and much more like myself.  
She told me, she'd come down to Gorhart because she was curious.   
Curious! Her, a Fae!  
She felt much more vulnerable to me, more more... tangible. To consider that she'd dropped her guard so much to be attacked and fatally wounded, while Aery called out “Hello, Dustling” to me, when I hadn't even been around the corner yet, was just baffling to me.

And so, young me learned another thing about Fae: They're people. They have flaws, weaknesses, they make mistakes, act out of emotion alone, like mortals. They differ wildly in personality, just like everyone else.  
That's a thing that the villagers never understood. They spoke of the Fae as if they were some sort of hivemind, as if meeting one Fae means you've met them all.

Sooner than later, Illuvia and I realized that they were afraid of her.

It hit her hard. She'd come here to learn about mortals, specifically humans, to make some conversation and exchange herself with them, and how did they greet her? With a knife between her ribs, and fear.  
They did care for her, yes, they did send me to retrieve medicine for her, but they didn't do it out of kindness, no.  
Their only motivation was fear, fear that the House of Ballads might respond violently to one of their kind being assaulted by a human.  
“They'd wipe us off the map,” the village elder'd told me, beckoning me to take Illuvia home, and deliver news of the attack.

I didn't understand Illuvia's dismay about this back then, but today, I very much do.  
They saw her as “Fae”, not as “Illuvia”. She had so much kindness for mortals, and they responded with nothing but distrusting and fearing her.   
The entire time of her stay, I was the only person that spoke to her. It must've been awful, and I'm not surprised that she'd left, as soon as the village leadership decided to send her home.

My time in Gorhart had a bittersweet end, even if I didn't understand it back then. I would develop a sense of what it means to feel like the Other in a community later on, and I'd come to understand Illuvia's feelings a lot better over time.

But, as I noted, it was me who escorted her back to the House of Ballads, and that is where things really get interesting.  
I'm cruel to cut this off here, but please consider that you have to get home safely somehow, Mortal, and these roads are dangerous after dark.  
Please, I assure you, we will continue exactly where we left off today, but please go home and sleep now.  
I will see to it that someone watches your back on your way. Be on your way.

Oh – you may finish your tea, of course.


	3. 2 - The Unsung

Chapter 2 – The Unsung

 

Good morning, Mortal. You're surprisingly early. Have you slept enough? I don't want you dozing off while I talk, you know.  
Huh. Well, you probably know best, right? Come, have a seat, I made fresh tea.

Now, as promised, let me tell you about the House of Ballads.

Illuvia led me there, not stopping for an entire day. I was, understandably, exhausted when we arrived, and took the opportunity to sit down on the bridges that lead up to the House.  
I can't tell you what happened between Illuvia and her kin as they reunited, because I was out of hearing range, but she likely spoke well of me, because, shortly after she'd gone in, the Squire she'd been conversing with, Galin, approached me.  
He really didn't seem to care much for me, and acted rather skittish, so I didn't dare talk back. Keep in mind, I was a mortal, and about a week old, Galin'd been the third Fae I'd ever spoken to, and believe me, he was a lot less kind to me than Illuvia and Aery.

I was fully prepared to turn around and go back to Gorhart, forgetting I've ever been involved with the Fae, until Galin mentioned that the House was in trouble, trouble that didn't have anything to do with Illuvia's attack.  
Apparently, a seat in the House of Ballads was vacant, something that hadn't happened ever, sine the House's founding. Failing to understand why that'd be such a terrible thing, I inquired further information from Galin – he really appeared to be venting about the problem to me, rather than explaining because I'd asked.

The Fae that'd left the seat open, Sir Sagrell, had died, which wouldn't be a big thing for a Fae, but in this case it was. Sir Sagrell died to a foe he was supposed to triumph over, something he'd done cycle after cycle, guided by the threads of fate.  
That's when things fell into place for me.

Things always seemed to go wrong, or at least differently, when I was involved, that much, I had understood in my young life. Fae Ballads weren't any of my business, but the weave of fate shifting, now, that was very much my business.  
I walked past Galin, straight into the House of Ballads, made my way through a small crowd of Fae, and just casually approached the one I'd assumed to be the leader, because he'd been speaking to the others.  
Brave, and probably disrespectful on many levels, but how should I have known?

Caught a little off guard, but in no way dismissive, the Fae I'd waltzed in on introduced himself as Hallam the White, Chamberlain of the House of Ballads – I'd like to note that I had no idea what that word meant at that time, so it really didn't help me locate this Fae in the House's hierarchy, hence, I spoke rather informally to him. He let me. I suppose he found my cluelessness somewhat charming, in the same way why a king wouldn't berate a small dog for hopping on his lap.

Hallam kindly allowed me to enter the contest that was being held, to compete for the open seat, as 'times were desperate', likely with little faith in me actually winning.  
You know, my early days among Fae were like this. I was granted many honors that I didn't understand were honors yet, and was essentially treated like a pet.  
Not necessary with ill will, they just didn't see me as being on eye level with them. Like a dog trying to walk on two legs, really. “Look, she thinks, she's people.”

And so, I grabbed my weapons, and set out to an abandoned Fae Hollow, Gorguath, where the failed Fae Knight'd fallen.  
I was greeted with disbelief and almost hostility by the other contestants who'd already arrived before I did.  
Ah, if only I could remember their names, they just escape me... It's been a long time, have patience. I recall but one of them by name, Ficon, but that just because he was the only one who would directly speak to me.  
The foe Sagrell had fallen to was a Grave Thresh, likely the biggest, meanest thing I'd faced up until then. I had no clue what a Thresh even was, so I was calm, contrasting the excited Fae surrounding me.

There were four of us, counting myself and Ficon, but we didn't spread out into the hollow, which would've been a better strategy for what we were doing, actually.  
Ficon had explained that the party'd missed the Thresh by a few minutes, so we sought out the four Heartvines, holding the beast's lair together.  
On the way to the third and fourth one, respectively, our two companions fell. But, as they didn't die by my hand, I didn't give it much thought, as they'd return soon enough, and neither did Ficon.

I felt a strange sense of companionship towards him, when it was down to just the two of us, and I believe he sensed it too. While approaching the Thresh's now-open lair, I caught him sheepishly side-eyeing me, and speeding up his pace, to walk in front of me.  
You might argue, he did that to avoid me stealing what he thought was rightfully his, but I see it in a more positive light. I believe, he remembered that I was mortal, and having seen his two brethren fall to Gorguath, he began to worry about my finite, fragile life.

I sustained little injury from our struggle against the Grave Thresh, even though I fought very … up close and personal, if you'd like me to put it that way. Pride mostly, really. I wanted to impress Ficon with my combat prowess, and my fearless approach. Being underestimated and patronized does that to your psyche, you see, pushes you to try harder, go the tougher way around.  
I probably only got away with a few scratches because Ficon was supporting me heavily from range, which is one of the reasons I made sure to remember his name.

Over the course of this endeavor, I had gained some sliver of respect from him, and when the Thresh laid to our feet, he first looked at me without scorn. Finally, I was on eye-level with a Fae.

Most unfortunately, it didn't last all that long.  
As Ficon shared his worries with me, his suspicion that someone might be tampering with the Telling intentionally – that means, not me -, we were ambushed. Two more Thresh, and they caught us by surprise this time.

So, Ficon acted.  
It all went so fast that it took until after the danger was done to realize what had happened, to reconstruct what Ficon had done.

He'd charged at them, pushing me out of the way, and running one through with him weapon, injuring it, but not killing it. I saw vines lash out, wrap around his body, but I couldn't interfere, as the other one was demanding all my attention.  
I only realized later that this sickening cracking noise wasn't caused by my foe's movements, but by Ficon's spine snapping.  
I was in shock for minutes after I'd dispatched the beasts. Seeing a Fae die in front of your eyes as a mortal is something visceral, something exquisitly horrible.

Now, this is the second reason I remember Ficon's name, because he saved my life by giving his own. Without him reacting, I wouldn't have lived through that ordeal.

I know what you're meaning to say, but no, his sacrifice isn't worth any less, just because he's immortal. Pain is pain. Death is death. Consequences don't matter to me, not in this context. Dying isn't a pleasant thing, and now, that I've experienced several deaths as a Fae myself, I know that it doesn't hurt any less for the undying ones.  
Ficon entered Gorguath dismissing me, and left it dying to shield me, measuring my life higher than his own, giving it up to spare mine.

I haven't spoken to him since, he probably doesn't know that I'm still here, much less who I've become. But, even though I met him so early in my life, I know that he is the reason I'm here today. And for that, I will be forever grateful.

Aside this, he was the first Fae I've seen change their mind about something. A very un-Fae thing to do. I've spent many nights wondering how Ficon's story would have progressed, had I not shown up when I did. I wonder if he would've recovered Sagrell's signet ring, and I do wonder how he would have solved the riddles and hardships I was to face in his stead.

Your tea's cold, Mortal. Would I be a terrible host to make you drink cold tea, let me brew a fresh pot for you. I reckon you might need some time to digest what I've recounted to you, yes?


	4. 3 - Daggers in the Dark

Always

 

Chapter 3 – Daggers in the Dark

 

Alright, mortal, here's your tea. I reckon, you're eager to hear more?  
Why of course you are.

Well, after my victory in Gorguath, I didn't lose much time, and returned to the House of Ballads immediately.  
Hallam greeted me warmly, impressed with my victory, but somehow not surprised. Though he'd obviously been expecting my triumph, and in complete approval of my membership in the Court, he didn't leave me much time to enjoy my new rank.  
Addressing me with “Sagrell” instead of “Mortal”, he sent me on my next assignment, this time, under the King's direct orders, who asked specifically for me.  
You probably can't quite imagine what I felt in that moment. I'd left the House for Gorguath being laughed at and belittled for my ambition to claim the seat of Sir Sagrell, just a few hours later, the King himself requests me. What a career!

Before I embarked on my journey to the Ballads Oratory, way south in Ettinmere, I took the time to see Iluvia, the Fae I'd rescued back in Gorhart. She'd returned to the village after reporting back, to “tie some loose ends”, as she'd put it, but I'd seen her on my way in, so I was wondering why she'd already been back.

I found her in the Sanctuary, sitting in Reverie by herself. When she noticed me, she immediately jumped to her feet, and grabbed me by my shoulders.  
With the most alarmed tone, she claimed I was in grave danger, that I was being followed by someone willing to kill to achieve their goals. My mind instantly shifted towards the Tuatha, but no, Iluvia told me, another mortal had been sneaking around Gorhart, to pick up my track, a mortal who radiated corruption, in her words.  
When Iluvia'd attempted to warn the village leadership, as she'd been the only one to sense that something was off, the mortal jumped her as soon as they'd found Iluvia in a secluded space, and “sent her back into the Cycle”.

Of course, my first instinct was to alert Hallam, but Iluvia advised against it, considering I'd only just risen in rank enough to be taken seriously, expressing fear of another mortal would've shattered that. Maybe not for Hallam, but for the rest of the Court.  
Iluvia made me swear I'd heed her warning as my “life was even more fragile than hers”, and especially, finite. Whoever this person was, they'd terrified her.

After going out of my way to reassure Iluvia I wouldn't get myself killed, I eventually, finally, departed.

The first few days of my journey south were rather uneventful. I traveled during the day, and made camp at night, setting up concealed tripwire around my sleeping spot, just for good measure.  
One would expect an elusive attacker to strike at night, when their quarry sleeps, right? Not so in this case.  
Right at the border, where Glendara transitions into Ettinmere, I finally clashed with my hunter.

I'd had the feeling I was being followed for a few hours prior to when it happened. A sense of suspense, of impending danger, that makes the hairs in the back of your neck stand up.  
This tension that'd kept me on edge paid off in a single moment.

Something dropped on me from a small ledge above me, obviously with the intent of knocking me off my feet, and bringing me into a position that'd give them the advantage, but I'd expected an attack, and was ready for it when it happened.  
I dodged, barely, forcing them to take the time to recover and get up, time I used to draw my weapons and ready myself for combat.

My attacker was a Dokkalfar, like myself at that time. Pale, grey, with golden hair and very much contrasting, dead eyes. She stared at me for about a heartbeat's duration, then she lunged at me.

I still use daggers to this day. I know what it looks like, when someone uses them with the intent to kill. And this woman was definitely trying to kill me.  
My Faeblades allowed me to parry her easily, but that didn't faze her much. She effortlessly evaded my counter-attack, and struck again, this time, going directly for my throat. Luckily enough for me, I managed to strike her dominant arm, falsifying her dagger's course, causing her to slice only my shoulder.

It hurt, of course, and bled badly, but it was better than being decapitated.  
Seeing as I couldn't properly raise my arm anymore, I spun around and ran. Having spotted a small settlement up ahed, I was counting on her to call off her pursuit as soon as I'd reached it.

I was right.  
She chased me a few minutes, but when I stopped in the settlement, she was nowhere to be seen.

None of the locals approached me. I suppose seeing someone with a bloodied sleeve and drawn blades rush into your home isn't exactly usual, not even in Ettinmere. I remained there for about an hour, treating my wound and resting.

This Alfar had worked with devastating precision, I hadn't been able to sense a single ounce of hesitation in her. Iluvia's worries'd been confirmed – I was being hunted.  
I spent another hour brooding over my map, figuring out a route that'd lead me through open space, with little opportunity for another ambush, as I was certain that the woman was still tracking me.

A wise choice, that eventually brought me to the Oratory in one piece. I'd still sensed the woman following me throughout the entire journey, but alas, she didn't make another attempt to ambush me.

With her in the back of my mind, I finally stood before King Wencen of the House of Ballads, who turned out to be a lot less majestic than I'd anticipated him to be.  
He abruptly told me to drop all formalities, and address him sans title, openly expressing how malcontent he was with his rank and the responsibilities than came with it.  
I still believe that he was only this honest from the start because I was a mortal. Maybe it was because he'd felt like I could relate easily to his struggles, or because he'd anticipated me to die before I could use any of his weaknesses against him.  
Either way, I immediately sympathized with him, and took a liking to him on a personal level.

However, I spoke nothing about my newfound nemesis to him, for the same reasons as why I didn't tell Hallam. I'd had a feeling that this problem had to do with me, and me alone. Considering that I'd lost all memories of my past life, I deduced that she probably knew me, and had some sort of personal vendetta against me. Nothing to drag the Fae into. Mortal business.

Wencen explained that I was to take part in another of Sagrell's songs, this time, side by side with his trusted companion, Farrara. I was to help him take down a villainous Fae, Bloody Bones – I still hope he didn't catch me giggling at that name – who'd abducted a mortal girl.  
But this time around, Bloody didn't take one mortal, no, he'd taken an entire settlement, and imprisoned them in his hollow.  
A twist, inconsistent with the regular tale. Something I'd promptly blamed on myself.

He also noted how Sagrell was supposed to bring Farrara back from the dead, assuming that Hallam “likely prepared me for this task”... he had not, which worried me.  
But, I consoled myself, Farrara was supposed to die because that was how his ballad was sung. My goal was now to prevent him from falling in the first place.  
With the unpredictability of fate around me, I was confident I could do that.

So, I-...  
Excuse me, was that your stomach? Have you had breakfast, Mortal? You do now that you body requires food to function, yes?  
No, I will not hear any of that. We're taking a break, and I'm organizing you something to eat. Don't even try to argue with me here.


	5. 4 - The Ballad of Bloody Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I would like to note that this version of Bloody Bones isn't an implied rapist. I've always disliked this particular plot point, so, I'm fixing it.)

Always

 

Chapter 4 – The Ballad of Bloody Bones

 

Here we go. It's not much, and probably doesn't taste all that great, but I never claimed I was a good chef. It'll fill your stomach, so eat up.

Right, where was I? Ah, Bloody Bones, yes.   
I set out to his hollow, Uduath, not far from the Oratory, to meet my companion in that coming battle, luckily, without being intercepted by my attacker again.

My contact, Sir Farrara, was already waiting for me in the first chamber, down in Uduath, casually leaning against the wall, and scoffing at me, as soon as I got into his line of sight.  
Farrara was – still is – a very... eccentric person. Instead of utterly dismissing me, he approached me with a shrug, declaring that my involvement wouldn't “botch the tale of Bloody Bones too much, I suppose”, he was very wrong about that, mind you, and proceeded to inform me that his sexual prowess was on par with his combat skills.

Eccentric, yes.  
Wencen'd already informed me that Farrara was a “tempestous firestorm” who'd rather go about his lifetimes seducing mortals than anything else, and how his self-sacrifice during this Ballad was supposed to be some sort turning point for him, but I didn't mind that much.  
I knew that this hadn't been Farrara's first time going through this, so I didn't really mind disrupting the tale by not letting him die.  
Hallam must've expected me to do this, as he didn't prepare me in any way to actually resurrect Farrara, as the real Sagrell'd have done.

As nonchalant about his own, upcoming downfall as only a Fae could be, Farrara went on ahed, closely followed by me, clumsily stumbling after him through the hollow. We freed the human prisoners, Farrara with explicit expressions of compassion and worry for them, and eventually found ourselves facing Bloody Bones, in the main chamber of the hollow.

I will have to be a bit more detailed in my recount of events in this case, as it's a key moment for me, and my story you're so eager to understand, Mortal.

Bloody Bones stood before us, only clothed in a tattered pair of pants and covered in what might've been scars, but to me, they looked more live carvings in his skin.  
He adressed me directly, completely disregarding Farrara, explaining his intention to escape this never-ending cycle of suffering and loneliness by altering the Telling, seemingly quite proud of himself for having managed to do so, and obviously assuming I was as shocked as Farrara.

I wasn't.  
But that doesn't mean that his explanation hadn't roused my interest. Altering the Telling, changing Fate, that all sounded like one and the same thing to me, which meant – this was my business.

Bloody went on offering me access to his secrets if I'd forsake the last prisoners in the cell he was obstructing or access to.  
The next thing I said to him, which shifted this entire situation in my favor, was something I did out of pure impulse, without even giving it much thought.

I looked him in the eyes, and simply said: “I know you won't hurt them.”  
He took a step back, then lowering his gaze a bit, probably focusing the tips of my shoes instead of my eyes.

“No, you're right.” he then responded, much to my surprise. “I never meant to hurt anyone. All I ever wanted was to be loved. Not to have to live this endless life alone.”  
“You want to be loved? And your way of achieving that is – what, abducting innocent Almain?” I fired back at him, still surprised that he'd actually, seriously responded to my intervention.  
“You don't understand this, Mortal.” he countered, not even acknowledging Farrara's presence, or his drawn weapon. “I'm tied to this story. I can't escape my Telling, warping it like this is the only chance I have.”

I heard Farrara urging me to attack, pleading me not to listen, but I just shook my head at him. This was something I was taking very personally. You might already understand why.

“Nothing is destined or fated when I'm around.” I responded to Bloody Bones's counter, and took a step towards him, extending my hand. “I'm here, in Sagrell's place. Things change when I get involved, I've learned that much.”  
“What are you implying with this, Mortal?” Bloody asked, staring at my hand as if he'd never seen one before.  
“I'm offering you an easier way out, a way that doesn't need anyone getting hurt.” My heart was racing, and every fiber of my being told me to run, but instead, I took another step towards him, still reaching out. “Come with me. Travel with me. If you want to be truly free, I'm your safest bet.”

“Sagrell, don't. You don't know who he is.” was Farrara's first warning I actually, verbally responded to.  
“You're right, I don't. I don't even know who I am. So, tell me,” I turned to Bloody Bones again. “Who are you?”

“I don't know.” he responded, without a hint of hesitation. “It's been so long since I've been anything but Bloody Bones. I don't remember who I am I don't think it matters anymore.”  
“Then you and I are alike. Who cares who we were? What matters is who we are, and who we'll strive to become... right?” I was completely grasping for straws at this point, desperately trying to get this Fae to relate to me the way I related to him. “This is your chance to escape, to become someone again. Please don't throw it away.”

I wasn't able to read Fae expression well enough to see the turmoil this one went through while facing me.   
But I could see how hesitant his motion was, when he finally reached for my hand, and took it. I'd never physically touched a Fae before, so I flinched when his hand came in contact with mine.  
Fae skin is smooth, smoother than a mortal's could ever be, and a lot colder. More plantlike than organic. I still don't know whether or not he took this as a reaction to him personally. Never bothered to ask.

We remained like this for what felt like a full minute. Farrara kept quiet, watching in disbelief as the cell behind us opened by itself, the hollow acting by itself, on it's master's silent orders.

“This... this isn't how the Ballad ends at all.” Farrara broke the silence. “You're supposed to kill me, and you're supposed to resurrect me. Why is this-... how is this possible?”  
“It shouldn't be, but it is. There's nothing keeping me from accepting this proposal, and I don't understand why.” Bloody Bones responded, finally acknowledging Farrara's presence, and letting go of my hand.

“Things just don't work the way they're supposed to when I'm around. I don't know why either, but frankly, I prefer this ending over the other, don't you?” I attempted a smile as I spoke to them both. “Now, I suggest we leave this place. It doesn't appear to have good memories for either of you.”

And so we did. The three of us left Uduath together, peacefully, without having shed a single drop of blood. I asked Farrara to report to Hallam and, if needed, Wencen for me, as I'd intended to establish … something with my new apparent ally.  
We made camp close to the border, where my elusive attacker and I'd first clashed – I assumed someone like her would never strike in the same place twice – and waited for nightfall in silence.

As I began to lower my guard over time, stopped being hyper-aware of the Fae, he seemed to feel comfortable enough to speak again.  
“My name,” he said, ripping me out of my thoughts, as I'd been staring into our campfire, “My name was... is Famor.”


	6. 5 - Stained

Always

 

5 – Stained

 

Now, that I didn't have anyone eagerly awaiting me, I took my sweet time to get back to the House of Ballads, having sent Farrara ahed, to report what'd happened in Uduath.  
Famor was very hesitant to follow me there, as he knew that he wouldn't be welcomed as warmly as me, so he was very content with the numerous detours I took to mortal villages, to stock up on supplies, meddle in their affairs and exploring their lands.

I'd just cleared out a Jottun infestation driving plaguebearing Boggarts towards a town, and we were making camp out in the open.  
He was sitting next to me on the naked floor, resting his hands on his knees, in a deep state of meditation he'd later explain to me as being Reverie, the closest Fae equivalent to sleep. I was awake, on my bedroll, reading one of the books I'd bought.  
This'd been on purpose.

Fae need rest just like Mortals, allthough it's more of a mental need than a physical one. This arrangement was akin to a group of traveling mortals sleeping in shifts to keep watch, which was very necessary.  
As he was traveling with me, I'd told Famor about my attacker from earlier, and insisted on being cautious, even though she was 'just' a Mortal – mostly arguing that I, too, was 'just' a Mortal.

I was lounging on my bedroll, completely fixated on my reading, which is why I nearly jumped at a light touch on my hand. Of course, I'd been aware enough to detect a potential ambush, but I hadn't expected Famor to move, as he normally didn't when in Reverie.

He'd unexpectantly reached out, and touched my hand.  
“You're warm.” he informed me, as if to justify why he'd done that.   
“That I am.” was my very intelligent response, still unsure of his reasons to break out of Reverie, just to ensure that I still had body heat.  
“One day,” he eventually spoke again, still holding my hand. “One day, you'll perish, as your kind does. This day might feel far away for you, but for me, it's close. Very close. And when that happens, I'll be alone again. Nothing will have changed, not long-term. So tell me, how did you convince me to ally up with you? Why am I here?”

I stared at him. He stared back at me.  
His face remained unreadable, I had no idea what he was thinking, and his voice barely gave any indication of his feelings, in this moment.  
“Hope.” I eventually responded, after attempting to get some clue from his expression, or body language. “You're here because I showed you that it doesn't have to be that way. I showed you a different way. And when I die, you'll be a different person, through the things you're allowing yourself to learn now. You'll live.”

“You don't know that. You expect me to learn and grow as a person, because you know that you would in my situation.” At least his voice gained sharpness, giving me more of an idea of what was going on in his head. “But Farrara was right. You do have no imagination of who I am. I'm horrible, through and through, to the very core of my being. You overestimate me, Mortal.”

I took a good look at him, at the traces of wounds on his bare chest, his tired eyes, his blank expression. Then, I slowly lifted my free hand, and slapped him.  
Lightly, of course. I didn't want to seriously harm him, I just wanted him to snap out of whatever this was.  
“No, you're underestimating yourself!” I countered, adding some spice to my own tone. “Have you ever wondered why you're such a terrible person? That's not a set thing, who you are, how you are, and what you do or don't do, is entirely up to you. If you stay the way you are now, that's on you, and only you. I know you want to change, and break out of this endless cycle of suffering, you wouldn't be here if you didn't want that – so I know that you will.”

His hand had cramped around mine, causing me a bit of pain, but I barely reacted to it, until he finally loosened his grip.  
For a brief moment, I'd expected him to lash out on me, but he didn't. Instead, he averted his gaze, staring at the dirt we were sitting on.  
“Forgive me.” he said, his tone having changed completely. No longer was it undefinable, or aggressive. Instead, he sounded like he was about to break into tears. Of course, he didn't. In fact, at this point in time, I wasn't even certain whether Fae could cry or not. “My mind is filled with doubt. About myself, about this world, and the entire mentality and system my kin operates under. You've shattered every bond. Everything I knew, everything I called 'certain', everything that held me back is gone.”

I didn't respond to that, mainly, because I understood him. Confusion, feeling alone and alienated, disconnected... those were things I was all too familiar with.

“When I go into Reverie,” he continued, “my thoughts reorganize and process. I revisit most of the things and impressions I gathered during my waking hours. And, someone like me usually spirals down into fear and self-loathing during Reverie. I awoke, because I realized that there'll be nothing left when your short life ends. That is a fear that shakes me to the core.”

Since neither of us had known that I'd turn out to be just as eternal as the Fae themselves, I didn't respond to that.  
What I recounted him saying is true, however. Reverie is very close to the mean concept of sleep, and more than that even, dreaming. Famor was in a very fragile mental state back then, and revisiting his thoughts, traversing his own mind, especially because he was disconnected from Esharra, and other Fae, would easily lead to something like this.  
It'd become a ritual for us over the years, to talk and examine thoughts, fears, doubts, and all those harmful poisons in his mind after he awakened. The longer he'd stay in Reverie, the worse it'd be. But eventually, he'd gotten better. I still vividly recall the first time I saw him awaken, and smile at me.

But, in this moment, our mutual silence was cut short.

Both of us'd heard the tiny noise heralding my attacker, the Dokkalfar and her deadly blades, so we shot to our feet. I saw lightning crackle in Famor's hands, even before we made visual contact with the enemy.  
Expecting her to assault me immediately, neither of us reacted properly for what she actually ended up doing.

She walked towards us in a seemingly calm fashion, letting both of us aim our spells at her, only to vanish into thin air after we'd cast them simultaneously, leaving us open for a brief time.  
Instead of trying to get to me, which I was half-prepared for, she caught us off guard – by assaulting Famor instead.

Demonstrating incredible physical strength, she struck the back of his shins, making him kneel over, then rendered him unable to attack by grabbing both his arms, holding them behind his back, and forcing him down with her knees.  
Her free hand pressed a blade against his throat, sand she focused me with her eyes, piercing into mine.

I was too mortified to react properly.  
“Don't... don't do this.” I managed to plead her. “He has nothing to do with this. If you want me, face me alone. Let him go.”  
She didn't respond, just kept staring at me, not even making any demands, like telling me to drop my weapons.  
Just knelt there, with a dagger to Famor's neck.

Minutes felt like hours, and I noticed that her hand holding the weapon was trembling.  
“Please-...” I started begging again, as the blade was already drawing blood, having pierced the first few layers of skin.  
Famor seemed uncannily calm, in this situation, and it didn't seem to have anything to do with his immortality, no. He was looking at her, from the corners of his eyes, as if he was expecting her to do something unusual.

He was right with that.

I saw her tremble violently, then she backed away from Famor, so erratically as if she'd burned herself on his skin.   
Obviously, I tried to close the distance to her, to incapacitate her, but she moved away from me, eyes widened in panic, and a strange sense of clarity I hadn't seen on her during our last encounter. Her eyes looked like they belonged to a living, feeling person, making her entire face show an entirely different expression.

She spun the dagger in her hand, and, without a moment's hesitation, she jammed it into her own throat.  
I recall screaming at her to stop, just before the blade pierced her skin, but she hadn't even paid me any attention.  
Once the weapon was buried in her neck to the hilt, she changed her grip on hit, and with one jerking motion, dragged it up, closer to her chin.

Blood gushed out, so fast, and in pulses, along with her slowing heartbeat, pressured enough to spray me with it.  
I rushed towards her, and pulled the blade from her neck, which made the bleeding even worse.  
Her throat was split clean in halves, and when I caught her toppling body, she had long stopped breathing.

Panicking, I tried to stop the blood from pouring, pressing my hands on the gaping wound, as if I was trying to strangle her. 

All that accomplished was covering me even more in blood.

Her suicide had been so surprising, so violent, it struck me harder than anything I'd experienced beforehand.  
Even though this woman had tried to kill me and someone I cared about, even though I didn't even know her name, I was howling with tears.  
It took Famor an entire night to get me to stop shaking, and I'd needed his help to wash the blood off my body, hair and clothes. 

But you know what, Mortal? That wasn't the last time I saw the woman.


	7. 6 - Home

Always

 

6 – Home

 

Oh, I know what you're thinking, Mortal. Why am I making this early obstacle that took care of itself such a big part of my story?  
Well, it's as I said, this wasn't my last encounter with the woman.   
Easy. Things will make sense in due time. It's very important to tell this story chronologically. If you truly want to understand me, and my nature, you need to learn these things in the same order as I did.

We reached the House of Ballads, both Famor and I still in somewhat bad condition. He refused to enter the House with me, waited outside for me to come back out. I couldn't blame him, really, after an eternity of villainy.

As opposed to most other Fae I ran into on my way to him, Hallam was the only one who didn't blame my poor mental state, and the blood I was covered in on Famor. When asked, I gave in, and told him everything – the attack on Iluvia, the killing intent, the ambush, and eventually, the woman's bloody end.  
Not understanding my pain, but willing to accommodate for me, he offered me to rest in the safety of the House before taking my next assignment, even though it did seem urgent already.  
I knew, if I'd accepted this offer, I'd leave Famor outside, all by himself, probably wondering if I'd abandoned him, so I declined.  
I cleaned myself up, put on fresh clothes, and declared myself ready to go.

Now, you do know what Lorestones are, yes?  
Well, you see, they're powered by Fae magic, to preserve their ballads forever, but during this time, said magic was fading, weakening. This forced the Fae to store their stories in another medium, one that wasn't as susceptible to decay as the Lorestones were.  
And thus, Hallam invented the Echostones. From what he'd explained to me, they functioned the same way a Lorestone did, but they needed a key to activate, a Cairn.  
Those Cairns were what really stored the ballads, and in that time of need, they were of incredible value to the House of Ballads.

And, well. Some of them, including the most important ones, had been stolen.

My mind was in a haze at this moment, so I absorbed information like a sponge, without putting in the effort to connect or process any of it. I simply accepted the task of recovering them, and moved on, traveling to the Ballad's Library in Haxhi, together with Famor.  
We didn't speak much during this rather long journey. He seemed to know that the shock of what'd happened still affected me, so he didn't ask any questions, or make any demands.

The Library, that was the place I first heard that name, that title. The Maid of Windemere.  
She'd imprisoned Tenwha, the Librarian, and stolen her Cairns, with seemingly ambiguous motives.  
When I recounted my short conversation with Tenwha to Famor, his eyes lit up briefly.  
He knew the Maid, he told me, and her intentions weren't dissimilar to his own, as she too was an eternal villain to the House of Ballads, doomed to repeat her mistakes in every turn of the Great Cycle.

I do wonder how long it'd taken for things to fall into place like this, had he not been there to give me this information.

Following the Maid's traces, but suddenly without any intent to actually harm her, I ran into two new Knights, Fae I hadn't encountered before.  
I was alone with them, as Famor'd decided to avoid any contact with the Ballads Fae, and thus waited outside the cave I met them in.

They seemed like day and night, fire and water, opposites, but somehow complimenting each other perfectly.  
Creth and Airmer. Their names still roll off my tongue so easily, as if they were meant to be spoken together.   
Airmer was very sweet and kind to me. He openly shared the progress him and his companion had made, and offered to let me join them in their endeavors, without a sliver of doubt in my ability. You know, up until then, I'd made it a challenge for myself to make every Fae I spoke to smile at least once during a conversation with me.  
Airmer, however, was already smiling when I'd approached him.

His companion Creth was an entirely different story.  
To this day, I still don't know why he'd disliked me this much, or why he was so rude and dismissive towards me. It didn't seem as if he disliked Mortals at all, he likely just disliked... well, people. His grumpy way of speaking to me was almost charming, in an odd way.

Together with them, and sped up by Creth's complaints about me slowing them down, I managed to recover most of the Cairns, and returned them to Tenwha. However, the most important one, the one containing the Maid's own story, hadn't been among the ones I'd recovered.

With my mind busy, I pushed the painful memory of the Dokkalfar's blood on my hands into the farthest corners of my head, and hurried back to the House of Ballads, almost dragging Famor with me. I was so eager to solve this problem, to work, but my enthusiasm died off quickly when I actually reached my destination.

Hallam awaited me, alone in an empty hall.  
They were gone, all of them, even Airmer and Creth, who'd beat me to the House. The Maid of Windemere had taken them all, and was holding them prisoner in her domain to the northeast.  
I'd never expected to hear a hint of desperation in Hallam's usually so calm voice, but it was certainly there when he declared me the last remaining Knight of the Court of Enchantments, and therefore, his last hope.  
Even the King and Queen were gone.

My fear only lasted until the threshold of the House. As soon as my gaze met Famor's again, I clenched my fist.  
I might have been 'just a Mortal' at this time, but these Fae had become the closest thing I had to a home, family, friends. I'd brought the idea of freedom and revolution into their lives, changing them, for the better or for the worse.  
I felt responsible. I felt in charge.

Suddenly, this all felt like so much more than just helping someone in need, it became more than something I did because it felt right.  
I was defending my home, the place I belonged to. The House of Ballads may have been an odd choice for someone like me, an embodiment of change and opportunity, but it was right. They hadn't chosen me to be one of them, let alone their lone champion to help when no one else could. No, I had chosen them.

Not because I understood how powerful the Fae were, or because I'd expected some sort of reward, in form of riches or glory.  
No, I'd chosen them because I liked them.

This was the arbitrary nature of my choices, of where my loyalties lied. I didn't think much of it back then, but now, I very much do.  
Even though I am unbound by fate, my path shaped me, and many coincidental things allowed to to become who I am, end up where I am now.

Mortal, have you taken a look out the window lately? It's pitch black outside. Sending you home like this would be very irresponsible of me, not to mention that it'd make me a terrible host. You may stay here with me, but I won't continue just yet.  
You need to sleep. I promise, I'll continue tomorrow, just where I stopped today.


End file.
